100 Prompt Challenge
by yourpainfulnightmare
Summary: A series of stand alone chapters using a different prompt word every chapter. Each chapter will vary in length, genre, and subject.
1. Ends

**Prompt Word: Ends**

This was it.

This was the last time Roy would see Johnny.

They both had known it was coming, but neither had the courage to admit it to themselves that it was inevitable, especially after The Accident_. _

They had tried to convince themselves it was better for both of them, tell themselves that only blame and bitterness would culminate between them and the only viable option left was to say goodbye. It was a thinly-veiled excuse that was torn down every time they looked in each others' eyes and saw the unspoken fears, guilt, and apologies. The same unspoken words that had grown in the months Roy had spent next to his partner's bedside praying for _just_ _one more day, please, God. _

It was evident to Johnny when he swam into consciousness long past visiting hours and saw the shadow of his best friend move closer to him that things were never going to be back to how they were. It was concreted when he immediately slammed his eyes shut as his first seizure took control of his body.

The footfalls faded slowly, as if Johnny was buying time. Perhaps he was trying to figuree out a way to reverse the damage done to himself and Roy; perhaps he was only hesitating so he could absorb every detail about Roy, even though he knew it all already. Or maybe the tears in his eyes blurred his vision as he attempted to make his way to the car.

It didn't matter; not anymore. Roy knew Johnny was gone when he heard the definitive _click _of the Rover's door.

The engine turned over and the tires spun on the dusty road, catching quickly and moving away. It took with it a piece of Roy's heart and the spark in his eye that had once defined him.

Maneuvering his wheelchair, the ex-firefighter/paramedic Roy Desoto made his way into his house.

**A/N: Just something I wrote way too late at night. I edited it, but apologize for any mistakes left. As for the 100 prompts, I don't know if I'll finish all 100, but it'll be an ongoing project at the least. J **


	2. Choice

**Prompt word: Choice**

The rain came down heavily and persistent, as it had all day, making rhythmic pitter-patters on the side of 51's engine.

Mike stoker leaned towards the windshield, concentrating on the road ahead of them. He could only hope that the accident they had returned from would be their last one for a while, or at least long enough to make it back to the station and wolf down something hot.

Captain Hank Stanley wiped his eyes with the back of his hand uselessly, the rain dripping off of his helmet and streaming onto his face. He had long since given up on telling his engineer to watch out for the other drivers after hearing the clipped mumbling about 'all Californians going crazy during a rain' from all sides of the cab. He moved his hands over his eyes again, effectively making his eyes sting when he rubbed more water into them. Giving a resigned sigh, Hank turned his thoughts to the paperwork he had filed about a new closed-top engine that was most likely sitting on some desk, neglected.

Marco and Chet sat in the back tiredly, mirroring each other's postures of crossed arms and hunched backs. They had barely had time to step foot on the bay's floor before their tones rang and dispatch was giving them directions to an accident or a rescue. Cravings for dry clothes and warm beds consumed their thoughts as they watched the water sliding down the roadways and hillsides.

Cap, sensing the crew's increasing tiredness and irritation, spoke up. "I'll cook tonight. How does fireman stew sound?"

Chet's voice sounded perkier than it had all day. "Sounds great, thanks, Cap."

Hank's own spirits were lifted as he watched a small grin sprout on his engineer's face accompanied by a nod, chorused with Marco's "wonderful!"

That was the last thing he remembered before the screaming of an air horn and the screeching of tires that protested in the rain.

E! E! E!

At first, Hank wondered if he was dead. His second thought was that he was merely blind. Finally, he heard a small sound that the captain could only describe as gray: flat, monotonous, and simultaneously in two extremes. He reached out for it until he heard the colors seeping into the initial gray tone.

"BP's lowering, pulse is down, and respirations increasing. Kel, I think he's coming to."

Hank felt as if his limbs had been replaced with lead. He struggled to sit upwards, but was immediately pushed back down in a firm, but soothing, manner.

"Not yet, big guy." The head nurse asserted.

Hank couldn't remember her name through the fog, but recognized it from previous visits to the hospital.

Kelly Brackett's voice-one he could place-replaced the nurse's. "Let me just check your pupils."

Hank felt a finger delicately lift his eyelid, dispelling any lingering notions that he was blind, and saw a light flitting into and out of his vision.

"Pupils equal and reactive. You're looking good, Captain. Now I know you're most likely tired, but I need you to keep awake for a little while longer in case you have a head injury. Can you do that for me?"

The now-conscious patient nodded, which took a tremendous effort.

Suddenly, his bed was being moved into an upright position and Dixie's face (_yes- that was her name_, he remembered) came into his view

"You have a visitor, which should keep you awake long enough; especially since he has food that your paramedics made for you. I'll still be in to check on you, though." Dixie informed him with a smile and a conspiratorial wink.

She turned and began to walk out, pausing to hold the door while another nurse escorted Mike into the room in a wheelchair. When she had pulled him up to the bed, she grinned at the two men and told them she'd be back in an hour to take Mike back to his room.

Hank scanned his eyes over his engineer and took note of the cast on his arm, the stitches that ran down is left calf, and the various bandages and bruises which plagued him. Hank also noticed Mike's gaze was cast downwards and was taking immense interest in the hem of his hospital gown.

The older man's voice was ensnared in the back of his throat, only breaking through when it had been forced. "You look a little worse for the wear there, Pally."

Continuing to fiddle with the edge of his gown, Mike mumbled something.

"Huh?" Hank strained to hear the response.

Mike cleared his throat before trying again. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry, Captain."

"Sorry for what?" Hank's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Do you even know what happened?" Mike's hospital gown continuously shifted from small hills to plateaus as his fingers kneaded it.

"Admittedly, no, I don't. Where are Marco and Chet?"

The gown's rumpling stopped momentarily, then picked up with vigor. "They're here, but they're sleeping a few rooms over. Chet had a tib-fib fracture and Marco had a few broken ribs and needed stitches in his arm. There are no long-term problems. As for what happened, I crashed the engine." He nodded, as if affirming his own statement. "I crashed 51."

Hank sat up straighter. "How?"

Mike found the courage to look in his boss' eyes. "I was going through an intersection and a tanker hit my side of the truck when he blew a red light. We tipped over. According to the other people, the other man drove off. That's all I know. I just want you to know I'm sorry, Cap."

Cap leaned forward, and then winced. Deciding it was better to not rip any possible stitches he might have, he relaxed into the bed. "Sorry for what? It's not your fault. You couldn't do anything."

"I could've been more careful. I should've known he was going to—"

Hank cut him off by raising a hand. "Known he was going to what? Speed through a red light illegally? Hit the truck and run? Mike, you were doing the best you could. Hell, _I _couldn't navigate through that rain, Pal. You're the best damn engineer I know and I don't want you to blame yourself for something you had no control of. You didn't make a bad, wrong, or stupid choice that lead to that. You did all that you could. It was the _other guy _that blew the red, not you. I know I'm being redundant, but I want—no, I _need- _you to understand that this wasn't anything you did or didn't do."

Mike swiped at the tears that threatened to fall, a gesture Hank pretended not to notice.

"You sure?" Stoker's voice quietly floated across the space between the two men.

Reciprocating the quiet tone, Hank responded. "More than anything."

Mike nodded, thinking about his captain's words.

After a few moments, the tranquil man nodded. He then turned behind him and reached into a small bag attached to his wheelchair and pulled out a paper bag. Holding it with his good hand, Mike spoke up. "Johnny and Roy made dinner for us to 'save us from the hospital food,' as they put it. Hungry?"

Hank nodded. "Yeah. Starving, actually. What is it?"

Mike peered into the bag. "Fireman stew." He answered with a small ironic smirk.


End file.
